How The Other Half Lived
by Wesker888
Summary: How well do we really know what happened with the Others before 815? Well, why don't we just peek into the journal of one of its members? DISCONTINUED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE
1. Entry 1

So…I tried a bunch of other ideas for a **Lost** story…didn't take. This is probably the only one that I realized clicked because I wouldn't have to worry about the storyline changing.

It's basically a journal from one of the Others' POV. From the time he joined them up until the crash of 815, and then onwards through the 90 days leading up the Season 3 finale.

And, like in the show, you're not gonna know right away everything about this guy. He'll be yet another unraveling mystery.

So, without further ado- enjoy.

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_(After the events of December 22__nd__-23__rd__, 2004, survivors of the Oceanic Flight 815 plane crash found one of the night assailants lying dead against a tree near where the second tent exploded. In his hands was this journal, which was taken back and restored to its original condition.)_

_(This is its owners' story.)_

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Entry 1:

I'm so excited and thrilled right now, because in a few minutes, I'm going to be leaving this troubled life behind and moving on to a new, better one.

I'm nervous about starting this new job. I mean, I have experience with guns and all that stuff- hell, I was military-bred, born and raised, so asking me if I know how to work a gun is like asking if I'm a virgin. I know how to work with other guys in the unit, I know how to defend a target. I know all of that stuff and more, oh so much more.

This is different, though. For one, it's extremely hush-hush- more hushed-up than anything I had ever done before. For two, it's taking me to some remote facility out in the middle of nowhere, near Portland. Though they didn't tell me which Portland it was- there's, like, _seven_ in the U.S., and God only knows how many elsewhere- "middle of nowhere", to me, translates to Maine.

And three-it's for some sort of research project.

Which sucks, because I flunked high school science at _least_ three times.

I guess I should be glad, though- if it weren't for this, I'd probably be dead by now instead. I'll remember it forever: There I was, awaiting my sentence, when suddenly, this plain-looking guy- Alpert, I think he said his name was- came to my cell. I had no idea what the hell he was doing there, and at that point in time, I really didn't want some loser-ass solicitor taunting me outside my cell while I was awaiting my death sentence. So I told him to piss off, in more ways than one- a few more verbal and physical ways- but he said he had a proposition, so, naturally, I listened up.

To go into the entire thing would be tedious and pointless. Basically, he gave me two choices- either I could stay here and be executed, or I could go with him. He had this company that he thought I could do a really good job in. Then he said he would give me a minute or two to think it over.

Took me about five seconds of contemplation before I asked him where I had to sign.

Give or take a second.

So now, here I am, about to begin my first day at my new job. He had me drive out to this large facility center inside Los Angeles, which is where I am right now. When I got here, Alpert and this other guy- a dude with mullet-brown hair and a weird face that goes by the name Ethan- were waiting for me, welcoming me with open arms. Almost like a family welcoming back a lost child. They treated me real nice, gave me a glass of lemonade-my drink of choice- and kept feeding me with all of this crap on how I was going to love it where I was going. I kept asking where that was, but they kept giving me the cold shoulder on that one. I figured it was best they didn't, anyway.

And then, of course, we had to get all the paperwork squared away. That took about forty-five minutes, give or take time for when I got a hand cramp. It was all "social security" and "have I ever been in any legal trouble?" and all that stuff. Then, finally, I got to the part where all I had to do was sign on the dotted line. I signed my name- J.T. Nelson, from Astoria, Oregon- and that was it. I was a full-fledged member of…whatever the hell this company was doing.

Then they left. But not before Ethan handed me this notebook and told me to record what I went through when we got there. He told me to record daily events, how I saw them happen, what I thought about them- that sort of thing. To me, it seemed like more homework. But I thought about it some more, and took it from him. What the hell, I figured. It might be alright.

I figured I'd start with this entry I've just finished writing. As I sit here, sipping on my lemonade and writing in here, I'm filled with happiness, relief, and excitement.

Maybe it's just my emotions all coming to me at once, but I'm also feeling kinda drowsy.

Now I'm feeling _really_ tired…

What did they put in that lemonade?

I think I'm gonna…

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That's all for now.

Review please!


	2. Entry 2

Alright. Entry Number Two.

geekmage: Thank you for the 1st review! This is the 3rd journal story I've submitted in to this site (the first two were/are FullMetal Alchemist stories), and I've always found them really fun to do, because not only do I try to keep it within the chronological storyline, I also like to make them both deep and touching while also keeping them quite humorous. I try to make it a good combination of all of that.

So, enjoy.

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Entry 2:

So…yeah…

They told me we were going to a remote facility in Portland, right?

Well-

_**They lied.**_

We're on a freakin' _island_, in the middle of the _Pacific_, thirty thousand _miles away_ from the nearest Portland- or any other city, for that matter.

OK, I'm not an expert on judicial cases, but I'm pretty _damn_ sure this is grounds for drugging and kidnapping right here.

I'm guessing they spiked my lemonade or something, cause one minute, I'm back at that facility, drinking up my drink and writing, and the next thing I know, I'm waking up, strapped to a freakin' cot, have no clue as to what's going on, and am in dire need to go to the bathroom.

At this point, I'm convinced that I've been abducted by some sort of outer space being. But then, just when I believe I'm about to be anal probed by a bunch of aliens, all of a sudden, the curtain next to me gets flung aside, and I almost jump out of my skin as Ethan appears next to me with a cheerful good-morning.

OK, I just want to state for the record, right here, right now: Ethan's face should NEVER _EVER_ be the first face ANYONE should EVER have to wake up to in the morning. That guy is _creepy as HELL_.

Anyhoo, after I panicked for about a minute or two, he somehow managed to convince me that I hadn't been abducted, that we were safe and at our destination point. He then un-strapped me, apologizing for both the drugging and the strapping me in in the first place, but that the trip was usually a "bumpy ride".

…You drugged me, and then you strapped me against a flat bed…driving across America…because it was a bumpy ride.

...Bullshit senses, screaming out, in three…two…one…yup, there they go.

Anyhoo, once that was all done, I got up. Course, the room didn't seem to want to stay still. It swayed, from left to right, back and forth, over and over. And no matter how many times I yelled at the room to stop moving- earning me many weird stares-, it just wouldn't stop.

Then, I was thinking: Cars are not this big. Buses are not this wide. Airplanes are not this dark. Trains do not have metal flooring like this, at least not the passenger ones. And ships were entirely unnecessary when traveling from one part of the U.S. to the other.

So, then, of course, the obvious question that had to come to mind was: _Where the hell am I? _

I looked at Ethan. He just pointed up. I looked up. There was a hatch of some kind, leading up to what appeared to be a very sunny day. Which made me wonder just how long I had been out for; it had been cloudy bordering on stormy back at the facility. I followed the porthole back down to the ground at the ladder that was connecting the two together. I looked at Ethan again, giving him the look saying, _"You gotta be kidding me."_ He just smiled, like an arrogant little jerk. I looked up at the ladder again, contemplating my next move.

In the end, I climbed the ladder. As dizzy and as possibly-drunk as I was, I climbed the ladder that did 360 degrees about fifteen times over on my way up.

I really need to remember not to drink so much before taking a trip.

Then again, it _was_ Ethan's fault, so I refuse to take credit for it this time.

Then, finally, after ten minutes of climbing, slipping, and pausing to clear my head, I made it to the top, climbed over the hatch door, and stood on top of what I finally realized to be a submarine and looked out into-

OK. Wow. However wrong it was to be drugged and kidnapped like that, I have to say, it was actually worth it. This place really is beautiful. All anger issues aside, this is probably the best, most beautiful place on Earth, next to Disney. No, scratch that, it beats _Disney_ too. The island was pretty damn big, and luxurious, in the sense that it looked completely untouched by the outside world. I looked around at it and thought to myself, _I could get used to this set-up._

So I grabbed my duffle bag and was proceeding to climb down the sub when this new guy came up to me. He was this small, really scrawny kinda guy with black hair and this really bug-eyed look. His smile made him almost as creepy as Ethan. Pretty damn close, anyway. And he moved with this whole "I own the world" kinda atmosphere…well, looked that way to me, anyway. Reminded me of what ole' Conway used to do back in the day.

He greeted me when I got on the dock, introducing himself as Ben Linus. He then proceeded to say how I was going to have a great time here on the island. From what I could see, I could already agree with him.

As we walked, he started talking about the history of this place. A couple decades back, this island had been the home to a research project known as the "Dharma Initiative", and that they had conducted a series of tests and stuff, to what of which no one really knew. Now, it was just this little community of about fifty or so people, doing their own private experiments in the several bunker-stations left behind. The longest that people were required to stay here for was about six months. Any time after that was of their own free will.

I thought about it. Six months. Seemed like a long time, but I remember Alpert telling me back at the facility that "time flew where we were going". Didn't really matter to me how long I stayed here for. I had nothing and no one to go home to. Here, I was going to have my own lodgings, with no taxes to worry about, and a comfortable little job that, if I played my cards right, I wouldn't screw up on again. I could stay until the day I died, if I wanted to. And I probably would.

I could see myself staying here for a long time coming.

Ben then filled me in on my job. I was to be a part of a small security unit that made sure there was no trouble in our little world. We would send out patrols, do perimeter sweeps, make sure no one slipped through our lines, all that good stuff. Didn't know who exactly we were at war with, but I'd go along with it, just to see where it led. I would also be partaking in any manual labor that needed to be done- which is always fun, especially if there are any ladies around. I get most of my dates that way.

Makes me wonder why it was all hush-hush when Alpert and Ethan were first offering me the job. This didn't seem so unusual. But then Ben told me that, aside from a couple of people that traveled mainland, no one knew about this island. It was cut off from the world, and, according to him, there was no way anyone would be able to find it. this just made me feel even better about the place- our own little piece of paradise, hidden from the world.

Finally, we arrived at what he called "The Barracks". To me, it looks more like a summer resort in Florida, but that's just what they call it. It's this neat little suburban area, all white houses in rows, with some white-picket fences here and there, and this really cool-looking Gazebo off towards the tip. A bunch of people were around, some in work clothes, some just lounging around. There are many females present- I sighed in relief at this- and also a lot of younger guys around my age. At least I wouldn't have to worry about being lonely around here.

He dropped me off at my house, which looks just like the rest but also had this lounge chair out back for where I can sit and maybe do some writing when I'm by myself, and told me that I would have today to get myself situated. Then he set down a few ground rules. I was allowed to roam anywhere around the island, so long as I reported in where I was going. Apparently, there are some areas around here that aren't exactly ideal for Sunday strolls. I was not allowed in any of the stations, unless ordered to by one of my superior officers. I was not allowed to observe any of the medical operations going on, unless it was my mission to or I had permission to. When working with my squad, I was to obey any and all orders without question. I nodded, not really minding, as I had been under much harsher regimes than this.

He smiled. "Good," he said. "Then get some rest. I want you in good condition when you begin your job tomorrow." Then he bade me good-day and he left.

So now, I'm in my bed, it's nighttime, and I'm the happiest that I've been in four years. It's that feeling that I'm sure that everyone gets when they lie in their new bed for the first time: that feeling of being in a new place, surrounded by new people. It's that "new" feeling. This is my new life.

I just hope I don't screw _this_ one up.

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That's all for now.

Review please.


	3. Entry 3

Entry Three is up, ladies and gentlemen.

Oh, I don't know if I ever said it before, but I don't own Lost, and only a couple of the characters- main included- and the idea of this story belong to me.

Enjoy.

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Entry 3:

I've been here a couple of days now. It may not seem like a long time, and in all other aspects, it really isn't. But it's been enough time to get to know the lay of the land.

My teammates are all pretty cool guys. They're all real super laid back, which is good, because working in that kind of environment allows you to bond a lot better than a unit that's uptight. My team consists of- Jason, a tan guy with a shaved head and a look that suggests he's high off something; Matthew, a skinny little kid with spiky blonde hair and a boyish face; Luke, a guy with shaggy brown hair; Ivan, this black dude with one of those thin little moustaches; Aldo, this kid with brown hair and the IQ of a freakin' ten-year-old; Diane, a chick with brown hair and a tomboyish attitude; Frank, a guy with long, white surfer-dude hair; Jessica, a chick with long blonde hair; and Harry, a guy with black hair that's been gelled-up in the front so that it sticks straight out.

That's the team. Don't seem like much, but they are. They really are.

And then, of course, there's the team leader. Ours is a guy named Danny Pickett. He's this gruff, stout little guy with a sarcastic sense of humor that makes him somewhat easy to get along with. True, when he's pissed, it's not a pleasant sight- especially when he got pissed at Aldo yesterday when the kid knocked over a weapons rack. But other than that, he's actually super mellow.

So, this is the security team that I'm on. We're the ten best, according to Danny. Of course, there are a few other guys on the other teams that are pretty good as well. But for the most part, it's just us. We get most of the heavy stuff done with.

The hierarchy of this little island community is a diverse one. Some people have been here for three years, other people over ten. A couple people, like Ben, have been here their whole lives, which automatically puts them high up on the food chain. So, it all varies primarily on how long you've been here.

Ben's in command, obviously enough. Alpert's not too far below him, though I don't exactly know how much of a leadership position he has. And then there's Isabel, this really old chick that's the head of the court system here. Don't know much more than that about her- only met her once so far.

That's about it for the big wigs. There are the minor commanders, too. They're the ones that don't have too much authority, but over us, they have _all_ the authority. Take Tom, for example. He's this big guy with gray hair and a wrinkled face that sometimes makes him look like he popped out of _The_ _Wizard of Oz_ or something. He's also quite a bit of an idiot at times and always acts as though he just woke up or something. And yet, when he has to, he can be a pretty good leader. In small situations, anyway. I don't know if I'd say the same if we were in the middle of a combat zone.

And then there's this black woman named Bea Klugh that acts as a supervisor. Everyone calls her "Ms. Klugh", because she's apparently some kinda mystic. I just call her "The Bitch", 'cause that's what she is. She's the biggest bitch on this side of the globe, spare none. I just pray to God there's nothing I have to do that will pair me up with her.

And then, there are the surgeons. That's the main specialty over here, it seems: medical operations. Seems like everyone who isn't on the security teams is a surgeon or a medic or something like that. Ivan's got some medical experience in the operating room, which is always a good thing to have on a team. Other than that, we don't come into too much contact with the surgeons, unless we're called upon.

You'll never guess who Surgeon No. 1 around here is, though.

It's Ethan Rom.

Yeah, I know. Couldn't believe it myself when they told me. But there's the truth. When it comes to the surgeries, Ethan's the best we got. As creepy as he is, he's someone to have around.

The other main surgeon is this blonde-haired guy that looks like he's in his late forties, but he's actually probably in his early or mid thirties. His name's Goodwin; I dunno if that's his last name, or his nickname, or what the hell it is. According to everyone around here, he's just Goodwin. But he's pretty good, or so they say. Again, I haven't really been around to see for myself.

There is one other main surgeon to point out...or, I should probably say "fertility doctor", as everyone seems to refer to her as. Her name's Juliet Burke, and she's from Miami, Florida. She's one of those cute blonde doctors that are all quiet and reserved, and also really, really nice. One of those girls you'd date, but you'd actually _stay_ with, not just dump after a quick date and/or screw.

That's my opinion. Sadly, enough, she's taken. By Goodwin, of all people. Not too uncommon for people to be dating here; hell, Danny's _married_, for Chrissakes. Though she's technically "taken", that's not stopping Luke from flirting with her every single chance he gets. I swear to God, that guy has either no dignity or a vast amount of determination.

Or he's just really desperate.

Or all three.

Yet…she always seems so sad. I was taking a walk yesterday, and I saw her sitting with Goodwin and Colleen Pickett, Danny's wife. Colleen- who's this chick in her early thirties, roughly, and kinda crabby sometimes, depending on the person and her mood- was chatting up a storm, Goodwin was laughing along with it, and Juliet… was just sitting there, smiling and playing along, but not really there. She kept getting this vacant look on her face, like she was somewhere else…or _wishing_ she were somewhere else. I wanted to ask if she was OK, but given the situation, plus the fact that I really didn't know her at all, I thought it best to just let it be.

Maybe it was just my imagination.

Well, that's all I'm reporting for now. Danny's got me and Matthew patrolling near the river today. I'll write more later.

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Author's note: With the exception of Frank, Jessica, and Harry, every single name posted here is a legit Other from the show. Most appeared at the Hydra Station at the early part of Season 3.

I'm pretty sure Ben, Richard Alpert, Isabel, Danny and Colleen Pickett, Tom, Ms. Klugh, Ethan, Goodwin, and Juliet are all pretty much spoken for by now.

Matthew was one of the Others at the Hydra. He was the one who injected the needle into Sawyer's chest in "Every Man for Himself". He was one of the two guys Jin shot and killed in "Through the Looking Glass".

Luke was the shaggy-haired Other who flirted with Juliet and fought with and was knocked out by Sawyer in "The Glass Ballerina", said good morning to Juliet in one of her flashbacks during "One of Us", was playing chess with Ryan Pryce in "Greatest Hits", and was the second guy shot and killed by Jin in "Through the Looking Glass".

Ivan was the black surgeon who helped out with Ben's operation in "I Do" (and was sub-sequentially knocked out by Jack), and was one of the two guys that helped Pickett chase down Kate and Sawyer in "Not in Portland". Although he wasn't seen, he was mentioned to have been killed during the tent explosions in "Through the Looking Glass".

Aldo was the Other that was guarding the building Karl was held in during "Not in Portland". And, as far as I know, he's still alive as of the end of Season 3.

Diane was the female doctor-lady that was with Ryan Pryce's group in "Through the Looking Glass". She was killed when the first tent exploded.

Jason was/is probably the most prominent of the minor Others. He assisted Matthew in the needle injection in "Every Man for Himself" and was with Sawyer and Ben on their walk at the end of the same episode. He also guarded Jack during Colleen's funeral in "The Cost of Living". He accompanied Pickett to kill Sawyer in "I Do", and was knocked out by Kate. He then accompanied Pickett and Ivan in chasing them down during "Not in Portland", and was the one Alex hit with her slingshot. Jason was the only minor Other, along with Ryan and Tom, to have survived the initial tent explosions in "Through the Looking Glass", and finally got his neck snapped by Sayid at the end of the same episode.

And that's all I have to say.

Review please.


	4. Entry 4

Alright, now we move on to Entry Number Four.

Peace.

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Entry 4:

Haven't written in a few weeks. Guess it's because Danny's got us doing all sorts of work. Target practice, patrolling, maintenance. At some point, we went over to another smaller island that we have where one of the Dharma bunkers are located. They call it "The Hydra". Basically, we were there chipping away at rocks or something like that. Not really sure why; Danny's the only one amongst us who does, and he's not talking. His business, I guess.

Though there are some parts where I wish they'd give us- or maybe just _me_, seeing as how I'm the new guy- more information. Like, the other day, me and Jason were trudging through the brush and we stumbled across these giant pillars with these circular things on either side of each one. I had no idea what the hell they were, so I just go trudging through them. Almost did, when Jason grabbed me by the scruff and threw me backwards. He then went on to explain that this was an electro-magnetic fence, and that if I went through it, my head would probably explode.

…Ok, those things should _really_ come with a warning sign.

Apparently, it's for our protection. Protection from _what_, though? From squirrels crapping all over The Barracks? Or, if a monkey throws a coconut over at one of us, is the fence supposed to catch it and blow it up? It doesn't really make a whole lot of sense to me, but then again, there really isn't a whole lot over here that does.

Well, at least there are some normal things over here. Like alcohol. And cards. The last two Friday nights, we've played round after round of Blackjack and Hold 'Em, drinking a couple bottles of scotch while we were at it. I kinda took a special kind of liking to the scotch- always have. Amy used to blame it on me being Irish, but I resent that. We're not all drunks. Hell, there's a book out there about how the Irish saved civilization.

But anyway, yeah… I hit the bottle a bit too hard. But hey, the other guys got pretty drunk too. Well, except for Ivan and Diane, really- I don't think surgeons are allowed to drink all that much- but Matthew and Luke definitely did. And I don't think anyone got more drunk than Aldo and Harry. The former was passed about before the second deal of the hand; the latter joined him three hands later. And in between, there were quite of fights and insults thrown.

…Actually, I don't even think the card thing really happened. Can't really remember.

But it makes for good times. I'm gonna be here for a very long time, and I need to know I have friends. And these guys have become good friends of mine. Matthew's the one who I patrol with the most. I talk to Luke about women and stuff like that. Ivan's shown me a few medical techniques. And Frank's taught me how to make a triple-decker ham and cheese sandwich with raisin bread and not screw it up.

Jason's probably the guy I'm most closest too. We sit out on guard duties at night- whenever we have to do it, that is- and just talk. About life, about who were before we joined this circus, about the island. Just talk. And it feels good, because I haven't had talk like that in a long time.

Danny's another guy who's been growing on me, but he's trying not to be too friendly. I guess it's just his personality, but I know he says more to me than to most other guys around here. Just give it some time, I think.

Meanwhile, there are more things going on around here. Ben's got the surgeons on full alert around here. Not sure why, but something big is going down, because he seems tense. Everyone on the surgical team does, as well as a lot of the higher-ups.

Just hope it's not big enough that we need to get called in.

I'm not too sure if I'm ready for that yet…

* * *

I know it's going kinda slow right now, but it will definitely pick up.

So, in the meantime, review please.


	5. Entry 5

Alright, now we move on to Entry Number Five

I just remembered another beautiful thing about doing journal stories: the chapters don't take me three to six weeks to finish, so they're not a hassle to write.

With that said, enjoy.

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Entry 5:

Pregnancy.

That's what the surgeons here are working on.

For some reason, the women around here can't get pregnant. It's like the body's punishing them for screwing around on the island and killing them all during the pregnancy. They have not been able to successfully conceive a woman on the island…ever.

Damn, am I lucky I brought a few…"supplies" on the trip over here.

I found this out when Danny, Ivan, Matthew, Diane and I were called upon by Ben to supervise the operation. "Supervise" basically means to watch the progress and make sure that nothing goes wrong. Ivan had to help out, but the rest of us stood with Ben and Tom and watched the surgery unfold.

All the main docs were there- Ethan, Ivan, Juliet and Goodwin- operating. Diane was brought in to be the anesthesiologist. The woman was someone I hadn't even met yet. She was pale-skinned with red hair, and a cute face. It didn't look all that abnormal; I just figured we were watching an appendicitis operation or something. To me, it seemed like this would be a cake operation. But I looked next to me at Matthew and saw the grave, serious expression on his face. Then I saw the same look on the others' faces as well. They knew something I didn't, apparently, but they weren't talking.

We were in there for about three hours. During that time, I couldn't tell exactly what they were doing. All I knew was that they kept injecting her with this weird liquid-stuff, shooting it directly into her stomach. Now I was curious. What the hell were they doing down there? I had appendicitis once, and unless that was the morphine shot they kept giving her, I'm pretty sure that wasn't part of the operation. What were they-?

The heart monitor suddenly flat-lined. That annoying high-pitched noise buzzed, echoed, off the walls in the room. I started panicking; this woman was dying. Yet, despite that, the docs weren't doing anything to help her. Ethan was taking off the freaking gloves! What the hell was he doing? Why wasn't he trying to save her??

None of this was making any sense. I turned to Ben, hoping he would order them to keep working, but to my surprise, he had already walked out of the room, without a word to anybody. Desperate now, I turned to Tom. But the Southerner just shook his head.

"He's gone, kid. Just like the rest of 'em."

I looked down back into the OR, and saw the surgeons grimly taking to the task of cleaning everything up. My gaze fell upon Juliet's face. Though it showed no visible emotion, like everyone else's, I could see that it actually held more than any of the others. More humane than any of the others, as the blanket was haphazardly thrown over the dead woman's face by Ethan.

As if he had done it a lot in the past.

Later that night, while we were out on OP, Danny explained the whole scenario to me. The woman that had died today had been pregnant, and, for some reason, the women on this island could not bear children, not one of them, no matter the circumstances. There wasn't much to back it, but Juliet believes this "sickness" starts up at the date of conception, and eats away at them up until their second trimester. That's the reason why Juliet's here on the island; to figure out if the process could be reversed. But so far, the doctor had had no such luck. Since she got here, at least six- seven counting today- women have been killed by this sickness, and Danny says there were more prior to that. With more still to come, unless a workable cure could finally be found.

The way he tells it, you'd almost believe the story to be one of those horror ones you tell around the campfire when you're out in the woods. But Danny swears up and down for it to be the truth, and from what I've seen today, I gotta say I believe him. It scares me, the fact that something as joyous as bringing life to the world ends up taking two lives away from it. So many people have already died…but why? Why are all these women dying? What's keeping them from conceiving? What's keeping them from living?

What the hell kind of island _is_ this?

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Short, but I like it.

Review please.


	6. Entry 6

Entry 6 is up and at 'em.

geekmage: Yeah, I know, these chapters are really short. That's the thing with journal stories, though- they're not all really long like normal stories. As the story progresses, and we delve into the events of the series, they will probably get longer. That won't be much longer, just a few more entries. Until then, bear with me, please.

Here, we delve a little into J.T.'s history. Just a little bit.

Enjoy.

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Entry 6:

Aldo had a bit of an accident out on the Fire Range today. We were all practicing with our rifles- AKs and M-14s, the latter of which I own- and I guess the handgun in his holster wasn't set on safety or something, because all of a sudden, there was a crisp, loud BANG! and Aldo was on the ground, writing and howling in pain, and clutching his leg like a mother clings to her newborn…if that was possible to describe it that way.

Ivan was off with the other surgeons working on some new medical procedure or something, so we couldn't figure out exactly what to do. Finally, Danny told me to wrap it up well enough for the docs to take care of it properly later. Of course, I refused, but he didn't wanna hear about it.

It really wasn't that hard. The bullet had just shredded up the top half of his leg a bit, jumped the kneecap and then buried itself in the top lower half. The worst damage was the top, but one of the surgeons could take care of it later. Grabbing a pair of tweezers, I went into the hole, despite Aldo's screaming –the man can be such a baby sometimes- and yanked the bullet out.

That was the easy part. The hard part was bandaging, which I never could do entirely right. I'd usually screw up, over-bandage, make it all wrinkled and messy. One time, I even bandaged up the wrong freaking area. Don't even ask me how I managed to do that. I'm still not sure to this very day.

But this time, I actually managed to do a pretty decent job. Wasn't perfect, of course, but at least it would hold long enough for Goodwin or someone to sew up the big wounds. I'd do it myself, but experience has taught me that trusting me with a sewing needle is hazardous to everyone's health.

When I finished up, everyone looked all impressed. Even Aldo, despite all the pain and misery, managed a small little thanks as Jason and Matthew picked him up and carried him over to the hospital for the docs to take care of him. Diane said something as well, but I wasn't paying attention, because right then, all of a sudden I just wanted to be alone. So I grabbed my gear and I went off a little ways by myself. It earned me a few odd looks from my teammates, but at that moment, I didn't really care. That whole thing just brought me back a couple more years than I ever cared to remember.

They say every man is entitled to their secrets. On this island, God only knows how true that statement is. It makes you wonder just how well we all actually know each other. But I'll just bet none of them have as many ghosts and devils in their closet than I do. I'm the prisoner that would've been executed for something that wasn't even my fault. Just saying that makes it sound unreal to anyone hearing it, but for me, it's my life. I'm the soldier that disobeyed the order, the criminal that was ordered to prison off the crime he only witnessed and acted upon, but didn't commit. I'm the unlucky guy, the cursed guy. I'm that guy you see in TV shows and movies, the one who's just at the wrong place at the wrong time.

That's me. I'm that guy.

----------------

When I was nineteen, I got up and enlisted for the Army. I wasn't pressured to do it- not by my rough-and-tough colonel of a dad, not by friends or any family, not even by those commercials. I did it because I was too angry to see other options, to act upon what my heart knew was right but my mind, so stricken with rage, wouldn't agree to. That was all four years ago. That's the only way to tell it: I got up, enlisted, and, after eight months of hardcore training, was bound for the Middle East.

I was assigned to a Special Forces unit based in Saudi Arabia. This was before September 11th, of course, so there was no real war, but even still we had some sort of assignment every week or so. It was like having an infinite amount of furloughs. The minute you got back from one, another one was presented to you. Not that I minded, mind you. Anything that got me on something other than my mind was greatly welcomed at that point and time.

But at times, the missions got a tad bit…extreme, I guess I should say. Like one time, we were supposed to infiltrate this little town out in…well, I can't really remember where we were. So many places got hit by our unit, hard to keep them all straight. But anyway, we were told to infiltrate this town- a circle of huts, for all intents and purposes- and take out this guy who had had a long-running history of selling arms to a bunch of countries on the U.S. hit list. We had to make it look like an accident, so I cut the gas line while two of the guys on my team (I was the leader for this mission) stayed on point, watching for any curious intruders. With that done, the fourth teammate flicked the match and threw it in, which by that point the rest of us were a good ways away. We stayed until we were sure no one was getting out of that fully-aflame, falling down shack before we retreated to report back in to HQ.

We were pretty happy with ourselves. Namely me.

That was, until I found out there had been a woman and three children in the building with the guy we had roasted.

A big ole' happy family barbeque.

Of course, my C.O. didn't see the problem with it like I did. To him, it was a job well done, with a few people lost to "friendly fire" along the way. That was just the kind of guy he was. His name was Brian Conway, and he was this thirty-three-year-old lieutenant with the most arrogant "ruler of the world" attitude- kinda like what Ben has now. I hated him with a passion, and I never missed an opportunity to show it, but there was damn near nothing I could do about it. He outranked me by a few ranks, and a fistfight was simply out of the question. And forget about court-martial charges. Special Ops. was secretive; to exist, the world had to pretend they didn't exist. So, nothing could be done.

But GOD, did I hate him.

I'll never forget what he had me do that day…

September 11th hit our country like a fist in the balls. At that time, we were already stationed out east, right in the heart of Iran, if you can believe that, on a covert op to locate a missing weapons cache. When the president announced war, a week or so later, Conway got the word on the giant-ass SINCGARS radio we're always hauling around. He told us to drop what we were doing and that we were being evaced; we had bigger fish to fry.

We had no idea what this was, of course. We had had no news, no letters from home, for a good month. We didn't know anything about 9/11, or the terrorists, or the war or any of that crap. It was just us. But when we got on the halo, everything was revealed to us. It was wartime. Missions were going to get more serious.

And serious they became. For three months afterwards we were in and out of towns, mountains, and plains routing out terrorists and supporters of terrorists. It was nothing short of what we were used to, but even to us, the things we did were extreme. When you heard in the news about whole towns getting bombed, of civilians getting killed…well, chances are, we were the cause of it.

But this one time…God damn it. Conway had brought us two girls- they couldn't have been older than eight or nine years old-, saying that they were aiding terrorist bombings by acting as spotters. It was an old Third World tactic- in the battle in Mogadishu, civilians of all ages and sex participated in the hellish nightmare. But it still didn't convince me that these two kids were aiding these bastard terrorists.

But Conway didn't listen, and insisted that, upon orders from the higher-ups, we were to execute them. That was when I put my foot down. These were two girls that hadn't even hit their pre-teen years. Sending them off to some camp and letting the M.P.'s have them was one thing. But killing them? No way.

Conway, of course, got pissed off about that, but I, of course, really didn't care. But one thing I hadn't counted on, as we were talking, was the youngest girl slipping out a knife from somewhere in her sock and stabbing one of our teammates in the arm. As I turned to see what the hell was going on, she had lifted the gun and plugged three bullets into Conway's leg. While my lieutenant was on the ground writing in agony, I had my gun trained on the little girl.

We circled each other for a full five minutes, though in those kinds of situations, they always feel centuries longer. This was something I had not anticipated happening, and the only thing I could think of then was that I hoped to God that she wouldn't be stupid enough to raise that gun again and try to take a shot at me. Because, if she did, then I'd have to do the same. And it'd either be her or me. And it wasn't going to be me.

Conway shouted something. She raised the gun. I did the same. One of us fired-

And the little eight-year-old girl dropped like a sack of bricks and didn't get back up.

My hands were shaking so hard it took every ounce of willpower I had to try and control them. I couldn't take my eyes off this little girl, who now had a pool of blood forming from her head where my bullet had hit her. I looked at the other one, who just looked scared. Conway, still writhing from his wounded leg, shouted for me to kill her too, or she'd do the same thing the other one just did; and who knows what would happen then?

This time, however, the logic made sense. My mind shut down, my body went into autopilot, and I raised the gun and fired a second bullet that put the second girl's life to a tragic, bitter end.

It's still hard to grip. I always wondered what the parents must've thought when their children didn't return home that day. How worried had they been? Had they searched for them, called out their names, for days, weeks, maybe even months? How long did they go before they finally learned of their two daughters' fates? Death's not the real killer, as anyone who's a part of war will know. Not knowing one's fate is. The waiting is.

Conway told me, as I patched his wounded leg up-which was three times worse than Aldo's by a long shot- that I had done the right thing…but we both knew there was no right thing in a war. And all I knew was, I hated this man for doing this to me.

Little did I know that the worst offense was yet to come…

----------------

Danny's got me on patrol. I'll write more later.

* * *

Nothing to say.

Review please.


	7. Entry 7

Entry number seven is in the hole.

moonhowler15- like I said earlier, I love doing journal stories, because I stay true to the storyline, and, any thoughts I've ever had on people and any comments, I get to say them here and be funny with them. They're seriously some of the best stories out there, in my opinion. And I meant what I said- Ms. Klugh is a bitch and Ethan's face would likely throw you into a coma if you woke up to it in the morning.

geekmage-I just needed to work J.T.'s story. It took me a while.

So, real quick: I once again paid a little visit to that oh-so-resourceful little website known as Lostpedia (not that I'm sponsored by them or anything, but just so you know, the reliability of the people I'm going with is _remarkable_.), and I came across this really interesting thing. Apparently, Isabel and Aldo- I trust you know who they are- were also at the beach camp in "Through the Looking Glass" and met their untimely demise. So according to the producers of the show, anyway.

Anyway, here we go.

* * *

Entry 7:

Ben was apparently impressed with the way I patched up Aldo the other day… if you can really call that a patch-up job. I guess the docs found that it was better than it could've been, but still, I wouldn't call that a patch-up job.

So now, I've been appointed team field medic. Which is gonna suck, completely, but Ivan's gonna give me some help with it. Ethan, too, when he has the time.

This is going to suck. So badly. You have absolutely no idea.

Really not much else to report. Went out on a few patrols, busted up a few more rocks, and occasionally went swimming out in the ocean. We do that occasionally, but we're careful. It being the ocean and all, you can most definitely count on a few sharks swimming around. Luke usually acts as the lifeguard- for some reason, he doesn't seem to want to swim too much- and the rest of us get some good exercise out of it.

Not too many problems have reared their ugly heads, save one: Ben and Alpert were apparently having a bit of an argument yesterday. I was the only one who heard it, but it was pretty bad. Alpert was yelling at him about the "procedures" he was taking to protecting the island. I'm guessing keeping the Island off others' radars, though how he does it is still oblivious to me. I mean, it's not like the guy can wave a magic wand over the Island and make it disappear, right? Don't know what he wants him to do about it.

But Ben, because the dude, like, never looses his temper, just stands there stone-faced. And then, he said if Alpert really had a problem with it, he could always go to _Him_ to take it up to.

Well, that shut Alpert right up. The matter was dropped. Though I still don't get why.

Who's _Him_? Why's He so terrifying to go to that He'd shut Alpert right up? And why haven't I seen or heard about Him until now? Wouldn't Danny or Jason or somebody have told me if there was another higher-up on this Island?

Just what I needed.

One more mystery to figure out.

I'm starting to think the Parker Brothers were the founders of this island community.

Jesus…

* * *

Sorry guys. Despite my brainstorming, I just could not make this one a long chapter. I hope you'll forgive me. I'm not sure how big the next two will be either. As I said before, it's hard to make journal chapters long.

Well, make a day. Leave a review.

…That's kinda catchy. I think I may use it from now on.

Peace.


	8. Entry 8

Entry number eight.

And here we go.

* * *

Entry 8:

Had to make a run up to the Flame Station today, to deliver some gear. Danny, Jason, Matthew, and I all went up. Flame was a place I hadn't heard of before, but I've been told it's a really key instillation to our facilities. Our only communication with the outside world, or so they tell me.

If it's so damn important, why the hell does it look more run down than my aunt's house after the hurricane hit? Place looks more like a barn that got so many crappy repairs it's ready to come down. The other guys didn't seem to mind it all that much, though, so I guess I won't really complain.

What we DID mind was getting shot at by a crazy one-eyed Russian bastard that's obviously spent too much time playing chess with the computer. He fired off two potshots and almost clipped Matthew's hair. Which he didn't like all that much. Danny basically had to return fire with his gun to get the son of a bitch to hold his own, so that when we went up to him there was resentment in both parties.

Can you blame us, seriously?

Anyway, we settled in, and this guy- Mikhail, his name was- set us up with some drinks while we finished strapping in supplies. He in turn gave us his progress report- which he sends out pretty much every day- so that we could hand it over to Ben. While Danny talked with him, I looked around at all the computers and crap he had laying around.

For a guy that's been living up here for eleven years, he's pretty technical. I mean, seriously, he's got a computer for just about everything, it seemed. One for watching the news, one for monitoring the outside world, one for _contacting_ the outside world, one for typing stuff, one for doing some weird research crap, and one to play goddam _chess_. I haven't played chess since I was in the 6th grade, but even I prefer a real chessboard to an online one.

I tried to play for a little while, but that one-eyed dude came in scolding me not to touch his equipment. Damn Red, I'll do what I please, thank you very much. I wanted to snap back, but Danny just intervened and told me to get going, we were headed back to base.

Good enough for me.

Jason told me that the guy's a real loner. He doesn't show up to the important meetings, he doesn't make any suggestions on what to do…he's basically a higher-up with no authority whatsoever. He just stays up there on Ben's orders. That both saddens me and creeps the hell out of me. He has no contact at all but himself and some other person they send up every day to collect the reports. And with all those computers, one's gotta wonder which one has his "special collection", so to speak.

Well, to each his own, I guess.

I'm gonna go cook some chicken.

* * *

So I was looking through the stories and realized this needed an update. So here it is.

'Til next time, peace!


	9. Entry 9

Alright, here we go. Entry nine, up.

Enjoy.

Entry 9:

* * *

_He_ is Jacob.

I'm pretty sure you know who I'm talking about. The guy Ben was referring to a couple of weeks ago. It took me some time, but I finally managed to get Danny to tell me what he knew. And what he knew filled some gaps while widened others.

What he knew of the guy was severely limited, but he said that Jacob was the reason this island was in existence. He _was_ the island, or so Ben says, if you can honestly believe that stuff. He knew and saw everything, and it was by His will that we had all come to this island and became His people.

Personally, if I had known this was going to turn into a religious cult, I think I would've opted not to come. Seems like an unfair trade, come here for work in exchange for giving up my proud status as an agnostic. To me, anyway.

I personally wanted to see Him for myself, but Danny told me that, apart from Ben, nobody had ever seen Jacob. Supposedly He lives in a hut all by Himself, way out in the jungle. No one's ever seen it, though, and although people have expressed interest, surprisingly, no one's daring enough to go try and find it. I think Ben's installed the fear of God into all of them, and they know what will happen to them if they go, so they don't.

Why, though. That's what no one here seems to be asking. What's the story behind all this? Some guy, miles away out in the jungle, rules over us without ever revealing Himself? And we're supposed to take Ben's word for it? Just like that?

Guess so, 'cause that's what everybody's doing.

Well, whatever. If that's how it goes, then that's how it goes. God knows I'm not going to be the one who changes the natural order of things. Screw that. It's too big for me, and I'm not about to try.

Let some other poor sap worry about it.

* * *

That's all for now.

Peace.


	10. Entry 10

Entry 10 is up, Entry 11 will be up directly afterwards. Figured I'd get SOMETHING out for the end of the year.

So, enjoy.

* * *

Entry 10:

Hell of a commotion going on this morning. It all started when we were on clean-up detail around the Barracks. I had just dumped in the last bag of the house when I saw Juliet storming down the path, looking angrier than a group of wasps whose nest had just been disturbed by a few well-thrown rocks. Luke shouted out a hello to her, but she just ignored him and turned the corner into Ben's house and stepped inside.

Next thing we knew, all we could hear from inside was glass breaking and people screaming. Juliet was really giving Ben the third degree. I had rarely heard Juliet _speak_ before, let alone scream her lungs dead. She's usually so damn quiet. But there she was, giving him all sorts of hell.

After about five minutes of shouting his ass out, she finally left, face flowing with tears. None of us had a clue what the hell was happening, and none of us were in the mood to risk asking Ben or Juliet what was going on.

It wasn't until later that the rumors started leaking in; Ben was sick. Some kinda tumor on his vertebrae. Supposedly, it's got the higher ups worried. None of us knows if it's true, though, because Danny doesn't want to spread any panic and have the whole island think something's wrong.

Which they already do, however, but we won't let him know that.

Juliet's kept to herself since then, and I can't help but feel a little worried. She's always been sad, and I've always just assumed it was due to some issues with her past. We all have them. Some are worse than others. I'm pretty messed up, too, when you think about it. But whatever's going on with her, it's gotten to be a bit too much.

Poor girl…

* * *

To those who have seen the show, I think you all know what happens next.

That's all for this chapter, but fear not. Entry 11 will be up before 2007 is over.

Sweet.


	11. Entry 11

Entry 11 is here, and now we dive into the show.

* * *

Entry 11:

Dear Journal:

Today I saw a plane fall out of the sky.

…

Yeah, I know that sentence in itself sounds like I've finally lost my marbles, so I'm gonna write it here again, just for clarification:

Today I saw a freakin' PLANE fall out of the freakin' SKY.

We were out in the gazebo, playing cards, cleaning our weapons, and overall shooting the breeze. It had been two days after the whole Ben/Juliet row, and that had pretty much faded from my mind. I had just started a rounding chorus of "Roll Me Over In The Clover", which Matthew and Aldo were joining in on.

Little did we know that it was the end of an era for all of us.

I had just finished the clean job and was slapping in the cartridge to my M-14 when it happened. The ground started shaking with the ferocity of a full 10 on the Richter Scale. Everybody grabbed their gear and got as low to the ground as they could as shockwave after shockwave us.

The first thing that went through my mind was artillery. Heavy naval shells could send one hell of an earthquake through the land, especially when there were a lot of them. Was someone trying to invade the Island? But nobody knew we were here; it didn't make sense.

"Are earthquakes normal around here?" I found myself asking Danny.

"Not as long as I've been here," was his reply.

Even he was stumped by the mystery. What the hell was going on?

When it finally stopped, no one moved for a few moments. Then, people finally started coming out of their houses. The Book Club, having been at their weekly meeting at Juliet's house, was the most noticeable. Ben came out a few moments later. We got up and joined everyone, all asking the same questions I was thinking.

"Oh my God!"

Someone's- a woman's- voice cried out. Fifty pairs of eyes looked up to the sky.

And that's when we saw it. A gigantic Oceanic liner, streaming down from the sky like a huge missile. It must've been 30,000 to 40,000 feet high and rapidly descending, one of its turbines shooting out fire. Judging by its altitude and speed, we could all tell it was coming in for a very hard landing.

We watched as, just as the plane was right over the island, the tail area of the plane broke apart, splitting right down their middle, the tail flying off and falling towards the south side of the Island. I followed it as it fell downwards, then heard another large crack and barely had time to look up as the cockpit broke away from the rest of the body. Each piece landed in a different location, one on the south side, the other two on different locations on the north side. Once they crashed, all we could see was smoke streaming from the sights of the crashes.

I've seen plane crashes on the news before. All the time. Hell, I've even taken witness to a few chopper crashes in my Army days. But for some reason, seeing that plane break apart and crash the way it did scared the albino crap out of me. How many people were on board? How many were dead? Hell, how many were still alive? I didn't know what to do, and for once, Danny couldn't give me any orders. Everyone was paralyzed.

Not Ben, however. Immediately, he started barking out orders and assignments. Ethan was headed down to the body section; Goodwin, to the tail. Both were going to get the lists of survivors together, blend in with them, and figure out what the hell was going on. They were going to pretend to be amongst them. In three days, they had to be back with the lists, for what, I had no idea. As the others started moving away, he and Juliet went off into the jungle, for what purpose was unknown to me.

My team was assigned to be on stand-by in Ethan's sector. Danny ordered us to get out jungle gear and outfits, pack up our weapons, and get moving in ten. Play time was now officially over. It was combat time.

We're ready. We've got our main weapons, four to five extra cartridges for each, our sidearms with two extra clips, our canteens, knives, shovels, camouflage, backpacks, seven days supply of rations, blankets, medical equipment, and-if the situation called for it-one thing of C-4 explosive for each man. We were headed out to The Staff station to await Ethan's return.

We're ready for this.

At least, I hope we are.

…..

I've got a bad feeling about all of this.

* * *

Happy New Years everyone!

Hope you all enjoy it!

Read and review, and have a pleasant beginning to 2008!

Peace out!


	12. Entry 12

Entry 12 is here.

Updating will probably be more frequent now, though the entries will probably continue to be short. That's a journal story for you. The good news, though, is that I can almost guarantee at least one new entry every day, depending on what's going on. I'll let you know if the next entry is gonna take some more time.

Enjoy.

* * *

Entry 12:

Two days since the crash.

So far, hasn't really been a whole lot of development between the two parties. Ethan and Goodwin have both sent back their lists who and how many made it out of the crash. We have forty-seven for the fuselage, twenty-two for the tail section. Though Ethan and Goodwin make those numbers 48 and 23.

Actually, the latter number isn't even that anymore. First night of the crash, our boys on the south side went in and snagged three of them. Which, to me, seemed kind of extreme, but I guess Ben wants to keep our community alive since we don't go to the mainland anymore (come to think of it, I'm the last guy to come over by sub, I think. Weird). They're some pretty tough-looking guys, too; good to add to our numbers. It came at a price, though, because two of ours tried to grab one more- this big black guy- but he woke up and bashed their friggin' heads in with a rock.

I didn't know them personally, but I still can't help but feel bad for them.

No kidnappings from Ethan's side yet, but that's OK. As they say, slow and steady wins the race. Personally, I think Goodwin was way too eager on this one; should've given them more time to get organized. Now they know we're here. On Ethan's side, they're unsuspecting. Gives us more time to analyze their situation. South side, it's a free-for-all, so we have to be more careful with it.

For our team, though, it's mainly just sitting and waiting. The Staff station's pretty boring, mainly just 'cause it's a medical station with not much to do. We all try to get out as often as we can, mainly by hiking our way up to the Barracks or by recon down to the beach to see the survivors. But we don't go anywhere without our rifles. Can't be too careful out here.

I swear to God, the fuselage dropped some heavenly hotties onto our beach. I went on a recon yesterday, and got a full stock watching all those honeys. That blonde girl's got the nicest body out of all of them, but the brown-haired one's not to bad looking either. And the pregnant girl's pretty hot too, despite the load she's carrying.

The dude's are, for the most part, pretty annoying. The doctor and that little British guy are lame, but that Iraqi they've got is pretty badass. The hick is too, though something tells me he's more talk than action. Other than that, can't really tell for the others yet. Will have to watch them a bit more.

Really not much else to report. Aside from those two poor bastards that bought the farm the other night, no casualties amongst us, no injuries, no mental fatigue, nothing. The survivors are doing just that, with no knowledge of us at all.

And I think I'd prefer to keep it that way.

Just a little while longer, anyway.

* * *

That's today's entry.

Peace.


	13. Entry 13

Entry 13 is here.

Enjoy.

* * *

Entry 13: 

Three days since the crash.

Ok, I'll admit it:

It's hard to get any friggin' sleep around here with all the damn roaring going on.

Some animal's going around the jungle, smashing down trees and roaring as if it's trying out for a part in the next _Jurassic Park_ movie.

None of the other guys knows what it is. They had never been told about it before. Guess it's a surprise for the higher-ups, too.

It's times like this where I'm glad that electro-fence is up around the Barracks. If we didn't have that thing, that…whatever it is would just smash through. And I doubt it's a tame…whatever it is.

Now, don't get me wrong. It's not scary or anything, honestly. It's just a pain in the ass when you're trying to sleep and all you can hear is that thing doing its best T-Rex impersonation. But I'm not scared of it. No way.

…Maybe a little, but hey, so are the other guys, although they'll never admit it, so it works out.

I'd pop in my CD player or something, but then I wouldn't be able to hear when it's my shift for guard duty, so I just leave them out for now.

The jungle's creepy at night. Out all alone in the dark, hard to keep your cool when everything around you looks like it'll come alive and attack. When I was a kid, I was always creeped out with those movies, as if expecting a tiger or bear or a jungle man to jump out and kill the main character. Of course, in this case, WE'RE the jungle men, so that's one scenario ruled out right there. But it's still pretty eerie, out there all alone in the dark- and in the rain, as it's been doing a lot of lately.

Maybe Jason's still up.

I'm gonna go see if he's in the mood for a late night chat.

* * *

Nothing else to say. Next one should be up tomorrow. 

Review please.


	14. Entry 14

Entry 14 up.

One of the hard parts about updating every day is finding something to write about in the disclaimer before I go into the chapter.

Ah well.

Enjoy.

* * *

Entry 14:

One week since the crash.

There have been more deaths among the survivors of both sections. Two from the fuselage, four from the tail. Numbers (excluding our spies) are forty-five and fifteen. The Southies are planning another coup sometime next week, and Jessica's headed over to help them out. They requested, so we had to obey.

They just better not keep her. We still need her on our end.

No word on what Ethan's doing yet, and I think the higher's are getting impatient. No word yet, but I think we may be suiting up for a raid.

We'll see.

Survivors found a cave system. Some are headed there for permanent living quarters.

Good for them.

Really not much else to report, unless you wanna hear about Jason losing five successive rounds of Go Fish.

So, until next time, later.

* * *

That's really it.

I'll see what I can pull out for tomorrow.

Later.


	15. Entry 15

Entry 15 is here.

Enjoy:

* * *

Entry 15:

Thirteen days since the crash.

And I feel like crap.

The whole team feels like crap.

We've spent the last few hours or so moping more than anything.

A heavy blow's been dealt.

And none of us really know how to deal with it.

My mind's a swarm right now, but because I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't, here's what happened:

Basically, last night, the faction we had on the south side of the Island pulled off their big raid the other night. This time, there was one hell of a ruckus. We're on the other side of the freakin' Island, and even WE could hear what was going on.

Mostly through the walkies, but you get what I mean.

In the end, they ended up snagging nine of the tail section survivors. It was one hell of a victory…but it came at one hell of a price.

…

Jessica's dead.

That cop the tail people had, Ana-Lucia…she killed her.

Broke her freakin' neck or some damn thing like that.

You really can't imagine the _anger_ that I felt when I heard that. Granted, when those last two guys were killed, I felt annoyed, 'cause, y'know, it was two of our people, but I wasn't vengeful about it.

But Jessica was one of OURS.

Our team.

She was our teammate.

Our friend.

Our _sister_.

…God damn it, why her? Of the group that made the heist, why did it have to be OUR woman that took the fall while the others finished the mission?

Two weeks ago, we were hoping we wouldn't have to deal any serious damage to these already banged-up crash survivors.

But now?

Now it's just personal.

…

I gotta go take a walk.

Clear my head.

I'll write more later.

* * *

I was originally gonna give Jessica a wider story arc, but then I decided to just kill her off. I really didn't write that much about her anyway, aside from her entrance at the beginning.

Well, that's all for now.

See ya tomorrow.


	16. Entry 16

I've been offline for the last few days, and I apologize for that. Even though I'm sure very few of you actually read this story, I'm writing for those of you who do. I like this story, so I'll keep going until it's done.

Anyway, here's Entry 16.

Enjoy.

* * *

Entry 16:

Fifteen days since the crash.

Something was going on last night.

Over at the caves where the survivors are gathering, we heard some screaming. We found out later this morning that Claire, the pregnant girl, had a nightmare. Must've been a bad one, 'cause word is she practically ripped her palms up with her nails. Must hurt like a bitch.

It makes me wonder, though: will she just end up like the others? The other pregnant women, I mean? Since that last entry I did on the topic, two more women have died. That brings Juliet's total to nine now. I'd really hate to see this girl join the list; she's really cute and really kind, from what I've observed. It sucks that the bad things keep happening to the good people.

…What the hell am I saying? These are the people that killed Jessica. Why should I show them any pity? Jesus…

I don't know what the hell Ethan's doing down there. From the looks of it, he's just sitting on his ass, enjoying their hospitality. The other night, he was showing that dude Locke how to hunt rabbits. And this morning, he's collecting fruit and chopping wood. _Getting them freaking supplies_. Christ.

The South side has captured twelve people, but so far, we haven't seen any action. Ethan keeps insisting that he has a plan, but I dunno. From our end, it doesn't look like anything.

Whatever it is, he'd better hurry it up soon.

Ben's starting to lose his patience.

* * *

That's it for now, but as a treat, I'm gonna write another one up tonight too.

Excellent.


	17. Entry 17

Here we go, Entry 17.

Enjoy:

* * *

Entry 17:

Whoa.

Goddam.

That…

There is no word for what happened today.

It's day sixteen, and something just happened.

We were in The Staff station, just chilling out, when Danny had us up and at 'em.

Ethan was back…

And he had brought Claire with him.

Didn't see that coming.

If this was his plan all along, he sure as hell had a way of making us think something completely different. If we were going to take someone, we would've been notified first. Since we weren't, something tells me this wasn't part of the plan.

And it wasn't.

He told us he had been found out. I guess they had a roster of who was on the plane. That right there is a big give-away, especially when Ethan's name wouldn't show up. He figured it was best he took off with Claire.

And they brought another stowaway, too.

That little rocker, Charlie. Apparently, he was with her when Ethan nabbed her. He must have some hellish crazy strength if he could drag both of them-one heavily pregnant- all the way through the jungle to here.

But he didn't want to deal with the access baggage. Wasn't his to deal with.

So he hung him.

…

Yeah.

Kinda extreme.

I guess it's one less to worry about, but still…God damn…

Well, anyway, I guess now we've got someone else to take care of.

Great.

Let's see how this all plays out.

* * *

That's all.

Next chapter's gonna be another "flashback" entry, so to speak. So, if it takes a little while, don't be surprised.

Later.


End file.
